


We Made a Garden

by ChiwiTheKiwi



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Brief Fatalistic Thinking, Canon Asexual Character, Cats, Domestic Fluff, Don't copy to another site, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, I have never tagged a day in my life, M/M, No Spoilers Past Episode 160, Not Canon Compliant, Panic Attacks, Post-Apocalypse, Post-Season/Series 05, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, they aren't overly descriptive but please be careful and take care, we lean more heavily into comfort but angst is abound on the road to recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:40:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23451835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChiwiTheKiwi/pseuds/ChiwiTheKiwi
Summary: It is with Jon in an embrace, and vice versa, that Martin is able to be one with the silence around them. As the two of them simply breathe in the other, he finds he wishes he could extend every moment he spends with the love of his life into eternity.But eternity never lasts, though sometimes it is for the better."We should get a pet," he hears Jon mumble into his neck.(AKA Jon and Martin wish to extend their small little family by one and somehow end up with more than they could have ever hoped for.)
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 22
Kudos: 152





	We Made a Garden

**Author's Note:**

> First up, big shout to [ my buddy Sparks](https://emberglowfox.tumblr.com/) for beta reading this! Thank you so much for the helping hand. Go check them out, they make absolutely fantastic TMA art!
> 
> Since the first episode to season five just dropped, I thought why not get this out just in time to be a nice comforting pillow for the inevitable emotional fallout? **There are no actual spoilers in this fic** because all/most of it was written prior to the episode and trailer release — the conclusion I vaguely hint about in this fic regarding how the apocalypse is dealt with is entirely my own.
> 
> The title of this work comes from the song [ Honeybee by The Head and the Heart](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JGuri4x3f9U) which is mostly what I listened to when writing this fic. It's such a good and cute song please go listen to it
> 
> Without further ado, prepare yourselves for fluffy romance, shenanigans, and the wonderful ways of healing past traumatic events. This idea has been in my documents for almost two months now and I'm so glad I finally get to share this with y'all

After… everything, Martin had thought things would finally be able to settle down. That's why once Jon and himself move away from London into the outer reaches of the small scale market town of Louth in Lincolnshire, he's surprised to find he's still unsatisfied. The home they occupy has since been filled with furniture, and the bookcase stacked with a new collection of books they have indulged themselves in countless times. Though the same cannot be said for every surface, most have at least one ornament with some sort of significance to either of them. This includes the small shaggy-haired highland cow figurine that currently sits on the countertop of the wooden coffee table in the living room. 

So it is safe to say that the small cottage they have found themselves in is not empty, and some would probably say it is a well-loved home. Except there is something achingly lonely about the space that is left unoccupied that has Martin setting his jaw and pushing against the swell of panic that scrapes away at the walls of his chest cavity. 

He doesn't say as much, especially subduing his plight in the weeks that he and Jon spend in the wake of unrelenting chaos. While Jon is adjusting to the sudden and sometimes painful absence of Knowing, he does what he can to be a constant at his side and shoves his own worries away in order to better care for him. Martin merely puts on a smile when Basira and Daisy come visit just a few days after they have gotten everything moved in, and he's the first to ask if they like their new home in the hills of Skidbrooke together. At one point he's even able to genuinely laugh with the rest of the group before the elation deflates and takes the face of melancholy instead. He hides it all well enough, and he's sure that if any part of it is leaking through, it would be as simple as blaming it on flashbacks or the like to wave any concerns away. 

Now, Martin has never thought himself as especially intelligent, but he has considered himself to have a good read on what falls into common sense. Evidently, he is not as capable as he thought he was, with the way Jon is staring at him now from where he leans against the other side of the kitchen cabinets on the floor. 

Martin's legs are half folded beneath him and half stretched out, whereas Jon's are stretched out so his legs entangle with Martin's, applying pressure, and a consequent sense of grounding, as he climbs himself down from the pillar of anxieties that have just risen up from under his own two feet. Jon doesn't say anything, merely staring at him with that same, unwavering look of resigned concern and despair, as though he had known this was going to happen. He can’t help but curse the man and how perceptive he has become.

As his heart rate steadily slows and he is able to fully absorb where he is, he still does not remove the hands that are tangled in his hair, instead using them as a shield against the conversation he is surely about to endure. When no words come and there is instead a bump to his leg, he tiredly drops his hands to his lap and blinks at the man across from him. When their eyes meet, Jon minutely raises both of his eyebrows in a question.

Martin quickly reaches up and scrubs a hand down his face before nodding in a way that is still a touch too fast — too desperate. 

He watches with adoration threatening to upturn the edges of his mouth as Jon turns, and then kicks away from his side of the kitchenette to slide across the floor until his back hits the cabinets and he’s sitting next to him. Martin leans in as the man, a whole head shorter than him, takes him by the shoulder and guides him to lay down to rest his head in his lap. While Jon settles them into a more equally comfortable position, Martin turns over until his face is curled into his stomach, burying his face into the soft, vanilla scented cotton of the man's shirt while he slips one arm around his waist. When he feels a hand settle in his hair and begin teasing tenderly at whatever knots had been created by his previous panic-driven posture, warmth so kind and so dear blossoms in his chest and behind his closed eyelids. He releases a small, unbidden hum of contentment as Jon trails his fingers down to the base of his neck for a brief moment before returning to threading them through his mess of hair.

They stay like this for some time, with Martin swimming in the contrasting emotions of unadulterated love for the man who is staring down at him as though he hung the stars and the scraps of worry that still worm themselves into the pit of his stomach. In their moment of pause, he does his best to sort through and cherry pick what he should say during the coming conversation. It's in his best interests to weave his words in a way that provides some merit of truth. He would prefer not to go in depth on how metaphorical claws tear at his skin and keep him stuck to one spot as the looming threat of bared fangs and venomous spittle keeps him constantly aware of his mental state. 

There is nothing he would like more than to simply breakdown and speak his mind, but he worries that would be more damaging than restorative. With all that the both of them have been through, Jon has worn the scars of his own experiences on his sleeve enough that Martin stresses that unloading his own would only end in him being overwhelmed and cause the dreaded post-traumatic bomb to go off. If there is one thing he feels he has to do, it's ensure that Jon gets through the aftermath as unscathed as possible; be supportive rather than a detriment.

Eventually, the hand in his hair — now newly detangled — falls still, and Martin feels as a thumb slowly passes across his temple. He all but physically tenses in anticipation, his tongue falling heavy in his mouth.

"Martin, we need to tell each other things."

He swallows, and then he opens his eyes as he pulls slightly away from Jon's shirt. When he meets his gaze, he sees the same look he had been giving him earlier, eyelids lowered in dejected resignation. Somehow, that expression makes it all the more difficult to speak than if there had been something far more angry or frustrated there. He knows above all things that Jon would never be anything but understanding in such circumstances as this, but with how long this has been put off, he definitely would have expected something… _more_ , at the very least.

"... I know," he replies, the words far quieter than he had meant them to be. "It's difficult."

He doesn't clarify what he means when he says that, but of course Jon seems to understand all the same. His thumb graces along his cheekbone this time as the hand moves to the side of his face. The unease melts away just a little bit more as the source of his love gives him a sad, little smile, and he feels his heart grow just a little at the sight. 

"I know. That's why we're here, together." Jon's eyes seem to search his face for a second before the smile slowly falls away. "Did you really think I didn't notice you've been struggling as well? I know you too well for that, Martin."

He doesn't know _why_ he thought he would ever be able to deceive Jon. Martin has been with him for so many years that he really should have factored in his observational skills. Although, he has been forgetting a lot lately considering where his priorities have been, and perhaps what he had perceived to be his own thoughtfulness was instead just a matter of ignorance.

When he fails to answer, choosing to instead shut his eyes against the telltale rushing of blood that once again makes an appearance in his eardrums, he hears Jon sigh softly through his nose.

"I talked to Basira and Daisy when they visited a couple weeks ago. Even _they_ noticed something wasn't right, Martin." He pauses, as though letting the words sink in, and as they do, he finds himself cursing the group's shared trauma. "Are you truly happy here?"

At that, Martin's eyes fly open.

"What? No! I mean— of course I am! I…” 

Jon gives him a slightly dubious look, but Martin knows he was speaking true. 

Because Martin likes Louth — _loves_ it even. He likes the town, and the people that inhabit it moreso. It fills him with nostalgia every single time he steps outside or walks around the streets, thinking back to the quaint communities and lush scenery of Poland. The people are, for the most part, kind, and are tightly knit in a way you could never expect of a large-scale city like London. Just the other day he had tripped headfirst into a discussion about famous poets with the owner of a bookshop he and Jon have frequented at every given opportunity. Their favoured rustic pub in the middle of town has especially opened them up to the town population, and they've even made a few distant friends through mindless chatter into the later reaches of the night. Sure, not everyone is the most overjoyed — try as you might, from Martin's personal experience, you simply cannot forget about as devastating an event as a worldwide apocalypse — but the majority try to be optimistic. 

And not to mention the house. It has everything he feels as though he materialistically needs, and it just so happens to also occupy his favourite person on the face of the earth. He sometimes wonders how the two of them could have gotten so lucky to have found it after only a few days of house hunting. The place is not large by any means, but it isn’t suffocatingly small either, and it instead provides a very homey air to the space. Despite all this, though, it fails to cover up the whispers of ‘empty’ that haunts the back of Martin’s mind. The thought itself has no merit to it — there is no way they could possibly fit another person into the apartment without it feeling cramped — but the dread that clings to the shadows of every corner hangs like a vice.

Jon leans down — at what has to be a highly uncomfortable angle — and presses his lips to Martin’s hairline before running a hand through his hair again, making it stand up in odd directions. His heart warms at the fond smile that he gives him and all at once he finds himself speaking. 

"I really love it here, with you." To emphasise this, he reaches a hand up to grab the palm that is still rested in his hair. Taking it into his own, he brings it to his mouth to plant a gentle kiss upon his knuckles. He doesn't look up to see Jon's reaction, but the man's grip tightens until he is holding his hand with equal fervour. "I can't think of a single place I would rather be. It's just…" he pauses, piecing the words together in his mind. "Have you ever felt like there is something we might be missing?"

He meets his gaze, watching as Jon's face turns into a thoughtful frown, and it’s not Martin realises his question is rather idiotic, actually; of course Jon feels like this, he’s been without the presence of his powers that he had carried with him for so long. However, the man is quiet for a few moments, seemingly having realised the question goes deeper than just this, in which a whole array of emotions dance across his expression before his eyes finally soften.

"I... think I understand what you mean, yes." 

Relief all at once floods through Martin, and he gives the hand in his a small squeeze in acknowledgement. 

"Can you explain what it's like for you? Just to make sure we're on the same page and all…"

Jon breathes a whisper of a laugh, running his thumb over Martin's knuckle.

"After everything that has happened, now that we can finally just… _live_ … For me it's like…" He sighs, shaking his head. "Let's think about it like this — we were all on the defensive for so long, even before the apocalypse, correct? Now that the Entities have been subdued and the Avatars are essentially powerless, it doesn't feel _right_ to not be paranoid. We don't have to worry that we'll be next on the chopping block the moment we leave a safehouse anymore. We could just live out the rest of our lives here if we really wanted to, and I'm so grateful for that, but we all got so used to the anticipation and now that there is no place for it, it's like something should be filling that empty space." When he looks down only to see Martin blinking up at him, he averts his gaze almost embarrassedly. "Was that not comprehensible?"

He quickly shakes his head in response. "No, it was, it's just… I think I understand it a bit more now."

He hadn't fully understood why the words floated around his head, though he had just chalked it up to being yet another consequence of his time in The Lonely. Jon's explanation has now put it slightly into perspective. The feeling persists, as though the whole of the puzzle is yet to be made, or like he's received one half of a riddle he still has no answer to. It isn't _exactly_ what Martin's feeling, but it helps in a way he isn't quite able to put into words. 

Somehow, that is enough.

"I don't think that's exactly what it is in my case. It might be part of it, but I don't know where the rest of the problem particularly stems from," he admits, heaving a tired sigh as he buries his nose back into Jon's shirt. He feels and cherishes each movement of his chest, proof that they are both here; alive and building themselves amongst a planet of equally damaged — but repairing — communities.

"That's okay," comes Jon's answer, quiet and intimate. "We can figure that out together too." It almost sounds like a vow when he utters the words

Martin doesn't know how he came to earn the love of this man, but he knows there is nothing he wouldn't do to ensure they don't lose what they have found in each other. 

Because the Jon he used to know, when he had just been assigned Head Archivist at the Institute, would never have made such a promise. Instead of cooperation and solidarity there would have been isolation and masked insecurity. He never would have allowed anyone to confide in him, nevermind confide in someone else himself. Martin had never expected anything more or less of the man after the first month of working under him.

But this is just another one of the things he adores about Jon — he became someone that maybe not everyone wanted, but someone that everyone _needed_ , and not a single person was left off worse for it, despite all the bumps in the road along the way.

Especially now, as his words have left him with a deep, familiar longing, and there is no reason to fight it as he turns his head to meet the eyes of his love before raising himself just enough to draw Jon into an affectionate kiss. He pushes all the emotions into it that he cannot bring himself to vocalise, and when they part, he causes the other man to let out a surprised laugh when he drags him by the shoulders to lay beside him on the hard tile of their small kitchen floor, wrapped in each other's arms.

It is with Jon in an embrace, and vice versa, that Martin is able to be one with the silence around them. As the two of them simply breathe in the other, he finds he wishes he could extend every moment he spends with the love of his life into eternity. 

But eternity never lasts, though sometimes it is for the better.

"We should get a pet," he hears Jon mumble into his neck.

The suddenness of the declaration and the nonsensical thought processes of his exhausted brain spurs Martin to laugh, genuine and open as Jon soon joins him to do the same. Later, he would come to realise just how insane a scene the pair would have been to any observing eyes, as they rolled around the floor of the kitchen in unhindered laughter. 

He would not have it any other way.

  
  
  
  


It turns out that Jon had been entirely serious about his proposal to get a pet, much to Martin's excitement.

The morning following their enlightening conversation, the two of them spent all their time researching a variety of indoor pets, narrowing down their options to those that would be a good fit. They had even considered the possibility of a ferret at one point, but eventually decided against it considering their “highly chaotic nature” as Jon had so eloquently put it. Dogs were out of the question as they didn't have quite enough space to contain that much energy on an indoor scale.

It takes some preparation and a lot of careful discussion, but eventually the two of them come to an agreement. They acquire everything their new resident could possibly need and then some, and a week later they make their way to the town's local animal shelter.

As they pull up he's hyper aware of how his leg has started jumping on its own at some point during the drive. In Jon's own subtle tick, he can see the way his grip tightens and loosens in intervals on the steering wheel, knuckles just barely turning white with each clench. 

"Are you ready?" he asks, turning a grin to Jon who serves one right back.

"Very much so."

The two of them waste no time getting into the building, and a quick conversation with the receptionist once they’ve filled in an adoption questionnaire has them being led through the hallways. Their further questions taken by a representative of the shelter has them airing out all the details of the adoption process and provides further, more specific questions about what they might be looking for before they’re once again being led away.

"We have a pretty big selection of cats here, so I'm sure there will be one to suit your lifestyle." She flips open the first few pages of the binder she carries as the small group comes to a stop. "In your questionnaire you answered that you have no apparent preference on an animal. Is that correct?"

"We aren’t looking for anyone specific, no," Jon answers. 

Martin adds, "Just someone that deserves a little love."

At this the handler begins to flip rapidly through the book, eventually landing on a certain page where her eyes begin to scan across it. She then looks back up at them, pointing between the two of them as she takes on a curious expression.

"And it’s true that neither of you have owned a cat before?"

Jon and Martin briefly look to each other out the corner of their eye before shaking their heads. 

"I have a few years of experience living with and taking care of a cat, but neither of us have truly owned one all to ourselves before."

The woman nods once in acknowledgement before setting her gaze back on the binder, flipping over another page before setting a finger on the paper and tracing the words Martin and Jon cannot see. It only takes a few seconds before she is raising her head and shooting a smile at the two of them. "Come with me!"

They do so obligingly, following her lead as she continues down the hallway past two more doors before opening the third and entering. Immediately the two are hit with the sound of scattered meows and find themselves surrounded by the walls either side of them with dozens of cat kennels. From the doorway, they can see some of the cats at the bars, looking through curiously, while others are completely oblivious to their presence.

The two of them follow down the aisle of felines, eyes darting between each wall, before they come to an eventual stop where the handler crouches down to one kennel at floor-level. Jon and Martin look to one another before going to do the same.

The first thing Martin notices is that the cat is a _very_ large tabby. Not large in the way of being overweight, but its build is larger than he is used to seeing, even in its curled up, sleeping position. It's obviously fast asleep, curled up in the bed that has been provided to it. It stays this way even as the handler unlocks and swings open the kennel door. When she reaches in and taps her hand lightly on the pet bed, it causes the cat's head to raise, whipping around to look at the woman and her outstretched arm. A strangled, half-asleep meow comes from the feline, and Martin's heart just about melts into a puddle at his feet when it jumps up and bumps its head against the handler's knuckles.

"This is Seth, a moggy who we estimate to be about five years old. Seth is also entirely deaf, and we suspect he might have been born like this, which is called congenital deafness."

The cat — Seth — arches his back in a stretch with his tail held high as the handler runs her hand down his body, before the cat is trying to shove his way past and out of the opening. He is heading straight for where the two of them are crouched before the handler quickly scoops him up into her arms, eliciting a protestant meow from him. All three of them stand up, and Seth settles into her arms when she gives him a scratch behind his ear to placate him. 

"If you would like to interact with him and get to know what he's like so you can make a decision, we have an open meet-up room you can all sit in, if that would interest you?"

Both of them look to one another, words being shared through their gaze alone, before they turn back. Martin’s eyes are locked on the animal’s when he says “I think we’d like that.”

  
  
  
  


The interaction goes so well that they don't even need to deliberate. The moment Seth was let loose around them, he clambered straight into Martin's lap while he purred heavily at the gentle pets Jon gave him as he sat opposite the pair, fully leaning into the contact. All that is needed is for them to fill out the adoption papers and get all the correct contact details before it is made official.

So they leave with one new member of the family and a list of instructions after some careful demonstration on how to work with and around a deaf cat. This, however, does not explain the fact that there are two sets of meows currently sounding from the backseat either side of where Jon is sat in the middle holding onto the temporary cat carriers.

“I _cannot_ believe how weak we are.”

“I tried to talk us out of it.”

“You really didn't put much effort into your argument.”

Seth, who they have decided to eventually rename, has a loud, unrestrained meow that is supposedly typical of deaf cats. The other is far quieter in contrast and seems to merely be in response to Seth.

As they had all been walking back through the area to put the larger cat back in his kennel while they sorted out the paperwork, Jon had noticed one of the cats in the top kennels sticking its whiskered muzzle through the gap in the mesh at their presence. This had gotten his full attention, and he had immediately begun fawning over the small, female tortoiseshell cat inside. The moment Martin saw his face instantly soften at the way the cat tried to reach him through the gaps with a paw, he had known there was no way they weren't walking away without a plus one. They had been told her name was Dandy, but alike the name “Seth”, it did not seem to fit, and thus they had decided to change this as well.

"It's okay, we bought enough stuff to house a small army of cats."

Martin hums in response, flicking his gaze to the rearview mirror to look at the other man for a moment, sending an adoring smile his way when their gaze meets. He is filled with a newfound tranquility as he listens to him talk to the cats, one part falling on — quite literally — deaf ears and the other part ignored over the cacophony of noise. Jon talks about nothing and everything all at once, responding to the meows as though they are having an intelligible conversation, the playfulness made especially humorous in the more deadpan tone he takes on from years long past.

Martin finds himself having to slow down on the road to laugh at times in fear of crashing when his eyes grow blurry with tears of laughter.

When the two of them make it home, as they each set a crate on the floor of their house with the meows now having quietened in volume, Martin turns and brings his love into a chaste kiss. As the two of them watch the cats begin to explore their new home with only a hint of trepidation, Martin's mind whispers "I love you"s for every time Jon passes a thumb over his knuckles as they hold one another.

For just a moment, the rooms begin to feel more like an embrace; more like Martin truly deserves to be here.

  
  
  
  


Jon had not imagined himself getting a pet since before his first run-in with The Web all those decades ago. Alas, here he is, watching as Martin slowly tugs a feathered string toy along the ground as the large tabby's pupils dilate in a predatory manner. The tortoiseshell stares at the toy as well, though she seems comfortable to watch from her curled up position in Jon's lap on the couch. 

It was soon made clear to both of them that cats do in fact pick favourites. Within just a few days it became obvious that the smaller cat was a bit more fond of Jon's company than that of Martin's and vice versa that of Mr. Chomps with Martin.

And that is another matter that has just presented itself.

"... Mr. Chomps? Really?" he asks, Jon's eyes trailing the toy as the cat seems to ready itself to pounce before darting after it. Martin begins to tug the string up and away, just keeping it out of reach as the feline maneuvers in a way that shows remarkable awareness of one's surroundings.

"Mr. Chomps is the perfect name for him, it suits him." The cat leaps in the air as the toy goes higher, catching it with his claws. Once back on the ground, he transfers the toy to his mouth before flopping over and proceeding to kick at it with his hind legs. Martin points to the cat as he does this, raising his eyebrows in a way that asks _'Really? You don't see it?'_.

Jon scratches at his neck, tilting his head to the side, thoughtful and resigned. "I suppose it does… _Why_ do I see him with that name unironically?"

"Because it's a fact that he was born to bear this name. Besides, his call sign to get him to come to you looks like a gesture for biting; it's fate." 

Well, he can't argue with that, mostly because he can't think of a single name that would better fit the creature. 

With a sigh and a chuckle rolled into one he looks back to where the cat now scrambles back onto his feet, the sound of unsheathed claws digging into carpet beginning as he begins to chase after the escaping "bird". 

"Mr. Chomps it is, then."

The warm and wide smile that splits Martin's face as he turns to continue cooing encouragement to a cat that cannot hear it strikes a chord in Jon.

He doesn't know how he got so lucky as to earn this. 

  
  
  
  


It takes almost a week for them to agree on a name for the tortoiseshell, and admittedly it takes a little more debate than Mr. Chomps required.

"I think it's perfect, plus you love names like this."

"I do, but you want to—"

"You want to call your cat Mr. Chomps and I have not argued with that decision."

They had also managed to settle into the idea that they both have been chosen by the two felines and have decided that the caretaking of each cat would mostly be handled by one of each of them, Mr. Chomps by Martin and Raisin Bran by Jon.

Raisin Bran, the small, friendly tortoiseshell, now lays curled in Jon's lap purring happily, none the wiser of how her fate is currently being decided above her.

"It's not even that you're naming her Raisin Bran, it's that you want to nickname her..." Martin's words taper off as he brings his hands up to press the heels of his palms into his eyes. 

Jon finishes for him. "Sin."

"Sin!" The volume at which the word was spoken rouses the cat, who raises her head to stare at the man before giving a soft _mrrp_. This causes Martin to reach down and scratch her cheek, satisfying the feline enough to lull her back into her slumber, all the while the exasperated expression on his face refuses to fall away.

"I think it suits her," Jon shrugs as he continues to scratch the cat where Martin had left off, eyes falling on her resting, content face. It's only after a few seconds of complete silence that he turns his gaze back up to catch his boyfriend's, and he's caught off guard by the fond, heartwarming look that has found purchase there. When he raises an eyebrow the other man merely gives a slow shake of his head, seemingly incredulous.

"It's nothing, just…" he gives a more resigned sigh. "I guess it does kind of suit her." Jon gives a genuine, small smile that Martin mirrors back. "As long as you promise that you don't start calling her Sin."

"Sure," he replies.

Jon technically does not make any actual promise and only agrees to do so, but Martin leaves to start on lunch, far too pleased with himself. The latter comes to realise this not even a few minutes later, and the prior is sure to never let him forget his mistake.

  
  
  
  


Because they have agreed to keep the cats indoors long term, they quickly decide that walking them would be a great form of enrichment, seeing as they are each up-to-date on their vaccinations and the surrounding area is mostly just open fields and paddocks. 

It just might have been the best idea they have ever had.

Sin walks in front of Jon, sniffing patches of grass as they go and looking around at the long stretches of green around them, appropriately hesitant but intrigued by the new environment. Chomps, on the other hand, is walking boldly with his head and tail held high in whichever direction his owners move. If he weren't on a leash, Jon is sure he wouldn't leave each of their sides anyway, and that really the tether is just a precaution more than anything. As time goes on, Mr. Chomps’ daring nature seems to bring around Raisin as well, and soon enough the two of them are trudging happily and confidently through the grass, only startling once when a jackdaw suddenly spooks nearby and takes off in a hurry. 

They must walk for over twenty minutes in the general area surrounding the house before they hear the first distant _moos_ of the cows that inhabit some of the nearby paddocks. 

The cats instantly are on the alert as they look in the direction of the paddock fifty or so metres away from them. Jon and Martin wait a few moments as the two seem to deliberate their next move, sharing a hesitant look as the two seem to begin slinking closer to the wooden fencing. 

“Is this a good idea?” Martin asks him, now staring at where the felines are trying to pull forward. 

Jon thinks for a moment before sighing. “If we don’t let them see them now then we’ll just end up having to show them another day. At least we have something between them and the cows; don’t have to worry about them getting hurt.” 

Martin hums agreeably, starting forward measuredly as Jon moves to do the same. 

Being of human height, the two men can see that the cows are all mostly herded around the opposite side of the pasture. The two cats, however, are having to crane their necks just to see above the slightly overgrown grass they push their way through, and even then there is still a wooden panel in the way. By the time they reach the fencing, several of the cows are looking over at the two new humans that have approached them, and some of the braver minority are already making their way over to get a closer look. Jon and Martin are sure to keep the cats on short leashes, now, and Jon grips Sin’s harness when she makes the jump to the top of the fence to get a higher vantage point. 

The moment she does this, one of the cows that had managed to get the closest, not previously having seen the animal, comes to an abrupt stop, causing the others to do the same. By now all of the cows are playing a particularly large game of follow the leader, and are beginning to crowd around where the group of cats and humans has manifested before them. 

Sin, upon seeing the grouping of very large, very intimidating black, white and brown animals stands tall and raises the hair along her back. Jon’s hold on her harness tightens slightly, though he isn’t sure if he’s more worried about her making a run for it or if she is going to leap over and begin swiping. 

Chomps quickly joins her on the fence, but his reaction is not quite as extreme. He puffs himself up at the initial sighting, but then seems to realise there are no attempts at advancements and that there is nothing aggressive about the strange creatures in front of him in favour of sitting himself atop the panel. Martin still holds his harness, but when the cat’s tail comes up to curl around his paws, he noticeably seems a bit more at ease. 

Sin still refuses to lower her defenses, but she seems to sense how the other cat settles beside her because she momentarily takes her eyes off of the animals to look back at Jon. 

  
This, however, is when Jon earns some new scars. 

In the moment that the feline takes to look away and then look back, one of the cows has begun edging closer to the railing, and upon seeing the large animal’s approach, the cat effectively springs herself away. While Jon had been prepared for her to go to the side around him, he had not been prepared for the cat to fling herself straight at him instead, and most unfortunately, her trajectory sends her straight at his upper torso. 

Those, without a doubt, are _very sharp claws_.

He hears Martin startledly shout his name as the cat essentially becomes a panicked, sentient scarf, claws digging through his shirt and into the skin beneath. There is stinging pain along his left clavicle and shoulder, but otherwise he is not harmed, and is merely thankful that his face has miraculously made it out of the line of fire. The cat now remains still, frozen in her position around Jon’s neck. 

Martin is gazing at the pair with a look not unlike what one would sport after having just stared a rogue Avatar of The Hunt in the face. 

Try as the two might to coax her down, the cat refuses to leave Jon's shoulders, even once they have made it away from the herd of cattle. When she has eventually settled down enough that her tail isn't flicking with barely suppressed fear, she remains perched around his shoulders, claws firmly dug into his shirt. 

"This _isn't_ an Uber service," Martin grinds through his teeth. He’s wormed his hands under her chest, and when he tries to lift her up and away, she only digs her claws in more. Jon finally reaches back to bat the other man’s hands away with a sigh. 

“It’s alright, she can stay there for now; I don’t think either of us could change her mind anyway.” He rolls his shoulders, testing the cat’s balance, and is answered with the pinpricks of pain that come with the needle-like claws that dig further into his skin. “ _Bloody hell._ ” 

They manage to walk the entire way back like this, with Chomps taking the lead in front of them and Jon occasionally hissing in pain when the feline around his neck is jostled enough to necessitate the use of her claws. He keeps the leash in hand in case she decides to finally get off, but she only decides to abandon her perch once Jon manages to sit himself on the couch of their home in favour of curling up on his legs instead. He looks up at Martin, only to see the confused but vaguely endearing expression he wears. 

“You have to admit that that was kind of cute. She obviously trusts you a lot.”

Jon heaves a sigh as he settles a hand in the cat’s fur, carding his fingers through the soft strands. “I suppose. It would be great without the scratches though.” He brings his other hand to poke at his shoulder, the stinging since having dulled.

Martin snorts. “I’ll get a cloth, hold on.” He disappears with Chomps on his heels and returns a minute later with a damp washcloth. When he sits down next to Jon, he turns so that he’s facing him as he brings the small towel up to where the scratches have been exposed. Jon goes to grab the cloth from the other man but he gives a small glare when it’s held out of his reach. 

“Let me do it,” Martin says as he goes to bring it down again. Jon once again attempts to intercept, Mr. Chomps appearing to mirror the movement beside them with wide pupils and an outstretched paw when a loose corner of the cloth swings close enough.

“I am perfectly capable, Martin.”

“I know, but I _want_ to do it.” He gives one of the dopiest, playful grins he’s capable of, and Jon kisses him chastely right then and there, if only to get rid of that look on his face. The other man instantly leans into it, but he’s well aware when Jon reaches out to grab the cloth from him during the distraction and proceeds to raise it high above their heads. 

When they part, Jon sighs and settles into the back of the couch once again, giving an exasperated yet amused shake of his head. 

“You are unbelievable.” He says it with a tone that could be interpreted as annoyance, but he doesn’t mean it, and Martin knows that well enough to simply smile warmly at him before diving into the task at hand. 

He keeps a hand gently placed around the back of Jon’s neck where he tugs his fingers through the fine, long strands of hair that have fallen out of his bun among the chaos of the last half hour, causing him to close his eyes, content at the contact. His other hand tenderly wipes at the abrasions with the cloth in a way that only elicits a small sting with each movement, before he feels something else being pressed against his skin. He looks down and releases an amused huff of air when he sees a plaster laying across one of the larger cuts, with Martin seemingly preparing another. 

“Just the one is fine, thank you.” He emphasises this by bringing his right arm up to grab one of Martin’s hands from where he holds the box of bandages. The grip is returned and Jon brings it to his lips where he plants a kiss on the back of it, looking up at the man from beneath his lashes before he pulls away and brings his other hand to cover each of their own. He is the only one out of them both to know he was thanking him for so much more than just a silly little plaster.

Jon is far too deep in his feelings for this man, and he can’t quite believe he’s here with him after all they’ve gone through. Sometimes he becomes overwhelmingly happy when he realises that he can do these sorts of things — just reach over and take this man into his arms without a second thought and face no consequences for doing so. He can caress the man he loves without worrying about whether he could lose it all at the drop of a hat, and that is probably one of the best things he could ask for after putting an end to the end of the world and extinction of humanity itself. 

Not everything is as it once was — it would be wishful thinking to say it ever could return to that in their lifetime — but what they have now is more than anything he could have ever hoped for, and it is everything he could ever have wanted.

The cats purr away in their laps while Jon holds his true love in his hands and brings him in for another more meaningful, affectionate kiss. 

He has everything he needs right here.

  
  
  
  


The incident soon proves to leave more of a mark on those involved than first expected, as it becomes apparent that Sin rather enjoys shoulder rides quite a lot.

Jon leans forward to stand up from the couch to start making lunch the next day when there’s a loud, cut-off _mrow_ from behind him before there is suddenly a weight on his shoulders. The lack of warning causes him to flinch and stumble before exclaiming startledly. 

“What the hell!” 

Martin, having watched it unfold, begins laughing hard enough to jostle Chomps, who gives a quiet but annoyed _mrrp_ before leaping from his lap and sitting himself beside the man instead. Apparently his reaction was entertaining enough for him to fold at the waist as he shakes to suppress his laughter, all while Jon tries to lift the cat from his shoulders. Doing this proves to be a mistake, as the claws once again dig into his shirt and thus the skin beneath. 

“Christ almighty, why, of all things, are you making a habit out of _this?”_ he asks, hunching his shoulders up as the cat attempts to curl herself around the back of his neck. He’s still standing as though he’s prepared she’s going to attack his face, which seems to not help Martin’s fit of receding laughter, which only returns with equal vigour. “The absolute least you could do right now is offer to help me.”

Martin, through tears, somehow manages to give an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, do you want help?”

“No.” The other man returns to laughing at this response. “I don’t need a traitor’s help. I also happen to like scarves.” 

To emphasise this he straightens out, biting his tongue as the cat claws at him to keep hold and reposition herself, and then heading toward the kitchen. He manages to make it through a few minutes of preparations before Martin finally seems to have fully collected himself and his thoughts and appears at his side to help. They talk about anything and everything as they work, Jon mumbling about how he needs to get another haircut when it falls into his face for the tenth time in just a short few minutes before finding a hair tie to pull it out of the way. Martin comments endearingly that he likes his hair as it is before almost slicing his own thumb with the knife, seemingly having lost himself in his staring. Though the thought of paying a trip to the doctor for stitches is horrifying, Jon can’t help but feel a tingly, amused feeling blossom in his chest at knowing he was the distraction.

It’s only when they give each other a kiss after settling back onto the couch with their food that Jon remembers the cat perched on his shoulders.

  
  
  
  


Martin heaves a shaky sigh as he gently closes the door behind him, leaning his back against it as he finally allows the exhaustion to weigh down on him.

He had taken up a job as a bartender in town purely as a way to get some money coming in to pay the monthly bills and provide for their necessities, and it earns them more than enough money to do so. It just so happened to turn out that he quite liked the work environment, and completed all the necessary training to fulfill the role aptly. This, however, means he often works late shifts to deal with the nightly influx of customers, and thus would typically never get out of work before eleven at the earliest.

As much as he likes his new job, especially when compared to the Institute, it does come with the occasional downside. 

On this particular night there had been an especially nasty run-in with an intoxicated customer, and a complete stranger at that. Martin has seen his fair share of patrons that have gone above and beyond their drinking limits, and this one really just fell into the same category, but his threats pained him in a way he can’t quite define. 

The man had spat cruel words before leaving of his own volition while Martin tried to force him from the bar on the manager’s request. He had snarled about how he should have been among the numbers of lives that were lost to the apocalypse, and how he hoped that Martin had lost everything to those nine months of torturous fear and suffering, that _“he doesn’t deserve the ground he walks upon”_.

He sinks to the floor with his knees drawn up to his chest, blinking into the darkness of their living room around him. 

Martin knows with all his being that he does not deserve those kinds of threats, that they’re terribly wrong and should not be wished upon anyone, and a distant part of him believes it; Jon has drilled it into his head enough times for it to have finally stuck. It doesn’t help the seed of doubt that has been etched into his flesh over years of putting up with the harsh reality of his mother’s love — or lack thereof — and all that came after it. 

People lost so much to the Entities’ temporary reign over Earth, including their homes, possessions, family, and for some, even their lives. Meanwhile, Martin was able to scrape by without losing anyone that wasn’t already gone long before, and instead came out the other side with an official boyfriend and band of amazing friends to boot. When the apocalypse ended, the fog lifted only to reveal the love he had longed for for so long to now be encompassing him in a warm and gentle blanket; as a safety net to catch him should he fall. Who is he to have deserved this when he was just a pawn in the game to help bring about the tragedy in the first place? Because that’s exactly what he and the others were — they were there as sacrifices to be made to ensure Jon was scarred or confronted in some way by each Entity. Whether he had wanted it or not, he contributed, and that’s something he’s going to have to live the rest of his life knowing. 

Through the sound of pounding blood in his ears, there is a quiet but identifiable _mrrp_ , and lifting his head to squint into the dark allows him the blurry sight of the large tabby stretching out as he walks up to him. He recognises this as his nightly routine, coming to see him every time he gets home despite not being able to hear his arrivals. When he reaches Martin, he bumps his head on his shin in greeting before rounding to the gap between his torso and thighs. 

Martin sniffs, and it’s only now that he realises he’s been crying. Chomps must notice his distress, as he raises a paw to gently bat at his leg, which gets the man to release a shaky, straining breath through his nose as he reaches down to pet the cat’s head. This action seems to indicate something to the animal, as he suddenly sticks his head between his chest and his knees, pushing himself into the space until he can properly climb into Martin’s lap. This startles a wet, quiet chuckle from him as he allows the cat to settle on his legs, reveling in the comfort that the pressure provides him. When he continues to scratch at the cat’s cheek he can physically feel the purrs which serve to ground him as the memory of the drunken stranger fades just slightly into the background — a blessed relief.

Leaning over, Martin buries his face in the cat’s dense fur, and if Chomps feels at all uncomfortable while being sobbed into, he does not make it known.

Martin allows himself to think, just for a moment, that there are a few reasons he is here to continue living another day, and they just so happen to take the form of two furred creatures that don’t even exceed the height of his knee and a man that he has been hopelessly in love with since as far back as he wishes to remember. 

  
  
  
  


Jon wakes up to the sound of a loud, cacophonous racket a few rooms away. It has him blinking awake and throwing himself from the covers of the suspiciously empty bed in a heartbeat as he grabs the bat they have kept leaning against the wall by the bedroom door. During all of this, Raisin Bran darts from her position at his side and dives under the bed. Mr. Chomps is quick to follow her lead, having read her frightened body language.

When he comes racing out through the darkened hallways, bat held high over his head, he’s greeted with the sight of Martin turning to him and raising his hands placatingly. 

“Wait, just wait! It’s okay! It’s only me!” 

Jon instantly lowers the bat, staring at the man with something akin to bewildered anger. 

“What the _fuck_ , Martin—”

He watches him quickly bring a finger to his lips and Jon can only help but feel his frustration grow, until he then points towards the kitchen. It’s now that he finally notices that a majority of the area looks like it’s just been upturned by a tornado. The fact that the house itself is still standing is enough proof to tell Jon that this is not the case. 

Martin waves him over as he tries to peer into the other room, leaning to see past the counter. Jon leans the bat against the nearest wall and walks over as quietly as possible to join him, but comes to an abrupt halt when a loud, unfamiliar meow meets his ears. He instantly turns to look at Martin accusingly. The man just stares back with a barely apologetic expression before facing the kitchen again, Jon begrudgingly trailing to join him.

When he rounds the counter, he is not expecting to see the small, curled up form of a ginger cat that has somehow opened one of the cupboards and taken refuge within. When it sees him arrive as well, it seems to curl up more defensively, although it does not make a noise or become especially aggressive. 

“Where did they come from, then?” Jon asks, staring at the back of Martin’s head.

“I found them outside the bar. They were looking for food and I didn’t want to just _leave_ them. Plus, it was so late that I was worried someone might hit them if they ran out onto the road.” 

Jon scrubs a hand down his face as he sighs, blinking at the creature that stares with slitted eyes between the two humans across the length of the walkspace. He is further filled with mild exasperation at the realisation that Martin would have simply caught this cat and wrestled them into the car. When he looks back up at Martin, ready to give him a verbal lashing, he’s staring back with the brightest portrayal of puppy-dog eyes that Jon has ever laid his eyes upon. His heart warms slightly at the sight, and he’s made keenly aware of how exhausted he is, having been awoken from his sleep, and now knowing that Martin is home, it must be close to midnight.

Reluctantly, he speaks. “I’m not going to make you kick them out of here, Martin, though I do wish you had texted me about this. You can stop looking at me like that.” Martin smiles, eyes alighting with delight. “But we should probably take them to the shelter in the morning. They might have owners looking for them.” This dampens his smile slightly, but he at least looks like he understands. 

“Alright. Where are the other two, by the way?”

“Our room,” he replies, glancing down at the cat once again past the crack in the cupboard door. “Hid as soon as they heard you two crashing about. What exactly happened to leave the lounge looking like it’s just been ransacked?”

Martin raises a hand to rub the back of his neck sheepishly. “Well, when I got them inside, I kind of had to let them go because they were _really_ scratching up my arms, and I only have two work shirts,” he says, gesturing at the bar name and logo on his chest. “I can’t really walk in looking like I’ve just lost a fight with a paper shredder.” 

This causes Jon to huff a tired yet genuine laugh. “That’d be your own fault for trying to carry an unwilling cat around. Don’t complain when you get scratched.” This pulls a laugh out of the other man, before it quickly turns into a yawn. Jon can’t help but smile as he watches the man he loves bring his arms above his head and arch his back in a stretch, grunting with the effort. “You go to bed while I fix everything up out here. You’ve been on your feet all night already.” 

Martin reopens his eyes and smiles softly down at Jon with a hum. “You sure you’ll be alright with this one?” he gestures to the open cupboard where the cat has finally looked away from the two humans in favour of searching the rest of the space around them with their eyes from their position in the cupboard. 

“I’ll be just fine,” he says, giving Martin a quick kiss as he leans down in request. “Now go keep the other cats company and get some sleep.”

Jon watches as the man drags his feet towards the doorway, waving behind him limply with a quick “Goodnight” thrown over his shoulder. When he eventually hears the door to their bedroom close, he finally sets his sights back on the matter at hand, or rather the cat at hand.

He first sets about laying out some food and water in one of the spare cat bowls and leaving it at the kitchen entrance, knowing the animal is likely underfed and underwatered. Jon then leaves to begin putting things back in their places, which mainly involves righting the cushions on the couch, placing the smaller decorations back on their correct surfaces, and uprighting anything that got knocked over in whatever whirlwind occurred in the first place. It’s just as he sits down on the couch and falls silent that he hears the sounds of crunching from the direction of the kitchen, and he smiles slightly, relieved that the cat is eating.

Deciding to wait a while longer to make sure the animal is fine, he grabs the book he’s been reading for the past few days from the coffee table and stretches his legs out on the couch so that he’s leaning back against the armrest. After a few minutes more he eventually grabs the blanket that is folded over the back of the couch before throwing it over himself and curling into the soft fabric, sighing in content. It doesn’t take long for him to eventually begin sliding down until he’s almost vertical with the book now resting open on his stomach, face turned into the backing cushions. He just barely notices when a pressure comes to settle where the book had been prior, having fallen to the side and to the floor. _Little bastard_ , he thinks amusedly just as his mind begins to drift off.

When Martin wakes up the next afternoon, he can’t help but smile and take plenty of pictures of Jon splayed out on the couch with the skittish ginger cat splayed out on his stomach and chest, furred head tucked just under Jon’s chin and purring away happily. 

  
  
  
  


The trip to the shelter’s veterinarian the next day tells them two things, the first being that the cat is in fact male, and second that while he is given a fairly clean bill of health and neutered, he is not chipped. Jon and Martin decide to set up flyers around the town looking for the owners, only for no one to come forward.

After a week of silence, a family of four grows to include one more. 

  
  
  
  


Martin would like to say that this was not in any way what he could have possibly foreseen when he brought this damned animal home. 

“You little bastard! I swear you must be more rat than you are cat!” He drags his foot along the floor, and along with it, the ginger feline that currently has his claws hooked into his sock. “Do I need to put you in timeout? Do we need to _make_ a timeout spot for you?” The cat begins biting when he holds his foot aloft, kicking with his back feet. “Okay, alright, we’ll name it in your honour. _‘Bastard’s Paradise’_. How does that sound?”

He can see Mr. Chomps out of the corner of his eye sitting a few feet away watching this unfold, having been startled when the new cat pounced from around a corner only to latch on to his owner. 

All of the cats interacting for the first time had been a less than eventful experience. 

While Raisin Bran had been cautious about the other cat, Chomps had been very forthcoming, bounding right up to the other animal before gently bumping his head against the other’s. The ginger, who they have yet to figure out a name for, had been startled by these advancements in the beginning. However, when the bigger cat eventually was able to get close enough to begin grooming him, he quickly softened up.

Martin and Jon had soon learned that the cat’s destructive streak was far from done over the first few weeks of his occupancy, even if his skittish phase had passed. They would often walk in on the cat destroying one piece of furniture or another, and if either of them heard a strange noise, they instantly chalked it up to the cat getting into even more trouble. Their original idea to name him ‘Moo’ seemed mighty inappropriate, and now they were at a loss as to what to call him.

It seemed that the decision was soon made for them.

“This really makes me want to get another cat.”

“Georgie, we cannot handle another cat. Admiral is already a handful on his own; I never want to imagine what having another around would look like,” Melanie replies evenly beside her on the couch, her hand buried in Chomps’ fur. Martin listens from the kitchen as he absentmindedly slices onions. Jon is seated in the recliner in the lounge opposite the two women with his hands curled around a mug of tea, Raisin tucked behind his neck with her head resting on his shoulder, fast asleep. 

“Admiral isn’t even that bad,” Georgie retorts and Martin can picture the glare he would find if he looked up. 

"That entire sentence was just blatantly wrong. You're biased; your cat is a nightmare when he wants to be."

"As far as I'm aware he's your cat too, so own it with pride and stop disrespecting him."

"He really is not that bad, Melanie,” Jon interjects. “I think you don’t give him enough credit.”

Martin hears her scoff. “As if I would take _your_ word for it. You’re just as biased as Georgie is, if not more so.”

He finally looks up at the group at this only to see Jon teeter his head side to side in consideration before shrugging. “Probably. But to be fair, as bad as cats actually get, at least he’s not as bad as the resident asshole we took in.”

“Oh yeah, where is he? You’ve complained so much about him in the groupchat that I want to meet the bastard for myself.”

At this, there is a distant but loud meowing from a room away that seems to rapidly get closer, until the orange-furred body of the cat in question comes screeching out from the hallway before darting under the coffee table to sniff the shoes of the unfamiliar humans in his home. 

Martin, stunned, simply shakes his head as though to clear a mirage from his vision as he sets the knife he’d been using down on the counter beside him. “I think… you got your wish.”

“You have _got_ to be kidding me.” Jon says numbly. “Did you really just respond to _Bastard_ as your name?”

Melanie is in full blown laughter, while Georgie has leaned down enough for her to hold her hand out for the cat to sniff. She too is obviously trying to stave off her own giggles if the shake of her shoulders is anything to go by. 

“To be fair,” Martin starts, “the both of us call him a bastard a minimum of twenty times a day.” 

“It’s out of love, though?” Jon says, turning to look back at him. “He’s a nuisance but he’s _our_ nuisance.”

“I don’t think we really have a choice in whether it’s his name or not, I’m afraid.” 

He is filled with a combination of pity and amusement at the dramatic expression Jon pulls at hearing this, but it is the catalyst that brings about Georgie’s suppressed laughter, quiet but genuine in contrast to Melanie’s uproar. 

To test the waters, Martin steps around the counter and crouches down, clicking his fingers together out in front of him. 

“Bastard, come here bub.” 

When he immediately comes trotting over, meowing loudly, the accompanying loud groan of contempt that sounds from Jon’s direction brings Martin to have to sit on the floor as he joins in with his own laughter. 

  
  
  
  


“Can you hand me a bracket?” Jon asks up at him through the two nails he holds with his teeth. When Martin obliges, he lines it up in a symmetrical distance to the other one on the underside of the wooden plank. He then grabs the hammer and a nail from his mouth and begins striking it into the hole in the bracket. When it’s in as far as possible, Jon tests the stability, and then hands it up to Martin. 

He takes it and walks over to the wall by the front door, bracing it to the surface testingly before bending to the floor to pick up his own hammer. Reaching into his trouser pocket, he procures a nail and holds the board back up to the wall before hammering it into the wall. He does the same with the other bracket, only having to push away Bastard from trying to step on the board once before he can step back and admire his work. The cat instantly leaps up to the board from the one they had affixed there previously just slightly below, and when it doesn’t collapse under the weight, Martin turns around to see Jon standing behind him, arms loosely crossed over his chest and looking at the newly built catwalk with something akin to pride. 

“You know, I think we’ve done a damn good job with this considering neither of us have building experience beyond putting together furniture based off a step by step guide,” he looks further toward the hallway where the step pieces extend all the way to the door of their bedroom, and then to one they’ve attached to the ceiling that goes above the living room until it arches down to the main glass sliding door. Following his gaze, Martin can see Bastard jumping between the sanded wooden planks with glee, which instantly brings a fond but relieved smile to his face.

“Well at least it’ll mean we might get a bit more peace, and hopefully less holes in our carpet.”

Jon huffs a laugh, shaking his head. "That might be wishful thinking if I'm being completely honest. We'd have better luck finding a lion in the wild plains of Great Britain than getting that cat to stop destroying something for one second of his life."

Martin stretches his back as he laughs. "I don't like those odds."

The two of them had decided that a catwalk would be a perfect way to try and divert some of the cat's energy away from tearing up the furniture and floors of their home. It would keep the animal up and out of the way while also allowing all three of the cats to get some elevation considering they don't have the floor room for a cat tree. While they had added Bastard to the roster of daily walks, it hadn't seemed to do much in the way of blowing off steam. His own introduction to the neighbouring herd of cows had not been quite as dramatic as Sin's, but the cat had definitely jumped entirely over the fence to try and get a closer look, which involved Martin having to briefly trespass to carry him over his shoulder back to their side of the property. Jon had been laughing the entire time with Raisin securely tucked around the back of his neck, now much more adapted to the presence of the large four-legged creatures.

Coincidentally, the cat in question now makes an appearance, hopping leisurely from platform to platform until she is sitting on the one right in front of them. Her purrs are unrestrained, loud from her comparatively tiny body. Without missing a beat, she leans over the edge of the platform and paws the air in Jon's direction, and Martin chuckles in amusement as the man simply sighs in understanding and resignation. He steps forward and turns so as to give the cat a clear landing, and the animal meows happily as she hops from the catwalk to his shoulder with practiced ease.

Martin watches Mr. Chomps come along next from the living room on the tail of Bastard, barely having to jump from each platform with his longer body and legs once he reaches the wall planks. The whole way he goes meowing loudly, with the latter cat seemingly unbothered by the noise. Chomps comes over to where the two men stand and bumps his head on Martin's shoulder in greeting at their newly shared height.

"You like it, huh?" he says as he reaches his hands up to scratch both of the cat's cheeks. The animal begins purring loudly and happily, leaning into the touch.

"If they didn't I would be very upset," Jon comments beside him, which garners a nod of agreement from Martin.

The two of them fall silently exasperated as they watch their ginger cat on the catwalk that extends the length of the ceiling into the living room. They realise too late that he is preparing to jump before he's already sailing through the air in the direction of the kitchen island, landing and sliding on the surface, taking out the fruit bowl they had set in the middle of the counter. Martin knows to expect the ensuing shatter of china before it actually happens, and drops his head into his hands when the culprit comes charging around the corner and out of the kitchen. He hears Jon groan audibly from beside him, and he can just picture the pure anguish he would find if he looked over to meet his gaze. Mr. Chomps on his other side is still seated on the platform, purring away, utterly unaware of the disaster that has just occurred.

"This was supposed to be a _good_ thing."

  
  
  
  


Sometimes Jon falls asleep in the living room when they're curled up together catching up on the shows they often missed out on over the last few years. It's understandable, all things considered, because Martin has a very bad habit of mindlessly putting on another episode and is entirely unaware of his own exhaustion until he finally looks at the time. Jon must not want him to be alone, or vice versa and does not want to be alone himself, because he has never left to go to bed without him on nights Martin isn't working.

Due to this, he does occasionally fall asleep on the couch, tucked against Martin under the throw blanket they often have with all three of the cats curled up either on or around them among the cushions. When this happens, Martin usually cannot help but get overwhelmed with emotions that all just so happen to center around the person in his arms.

If he were to witness this moment when Jon first started in the archives, Martin would first immediately combust from embarrassment, but he also would think it entirely impossible for multiple reasons. The first being that the man he had known back then, Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, had once sneered at his very existence. This in itself is enough, but there was also the fact that Jon was so closed off that he couldn't imagine him having the capacity to ever come to trust Martin, even over the course of multiple lifetimes if given the chance.

Now to see the man trusting him enough to not only sit so close to him and be here with him in the first place, but to also trust him to the extent where he can fall asleep in his presence without it being due to week-long sleep deprivation?

It gives Martin a sense of purpose in a world in which he has already completed what he perceived to be his ultimate goal. He helped thwart an apocalypse, even though he was manipulated in a way that helped bring it about in the first place. That should have been where his life ended if he's realistic; he was there to face down the beings that brought such immense amounts of terror to their world and yet he was among those that got to keep on living to see the next day. Jon, Basira, Daisy, Melanie, and Georgie also all made it out, but it made more sense to Martin for that to have been the case, somehow.

Looking back on it all, Martin's entire life leading up to the apocalypse seems like it all was in preparation. He was always on the other end of the leash, being tugged along through someone else's sick game, and now that the apocalypse has ended... To say the least, it was a harsh jump that he cannot always wrap his head around. It often feels like his story ended and then an entirely new one began anew in the ashes of his old life.

Martin sighs as he lifts a hand, pushing the long, unkempt strands of Jon's hair out of his face. The man moves in his sleep, leaning into the contact of his fingers against his forehead slightly as his resting face noticeably softens. The sight tightens the swirling ribbons that twist around his heart, and a soft smile stretches itself across his face unbidden.

Perhaps he has been blessed with a life he hasn’t entirely earned for himself. This doesn't mean that while he's here he can at the very least indulge himself in all the things he only once dreamed he could have.

Martin runs a hand over Chomps' fur, who is curled up in a ball in his lap. This causes the cat's eyes to blink open before looking up at him with a soft _mrrp_. Tucking a hand under the large cat's side he lifts the cat up and to the side so that he can get up, eliciting a small protesting meow from the feline. He then slowly moves the blanket away, pushes Jon so that the back of the couch is supporting him, and then stands up, stretching. He bends down and maneuvers his arms under his knees and back before ever so slowly lifting the man into his arms. Jon doesn't awaken, but he obligingly leans into his chest so that his head is tucked beneath Martin's chin.

His smile widens before he dips his head down to plant a gentle kiss into his hair and begins to quietly make his way to their room, careful as to not move the other man too much in his sleep. Before he has a chance to make it very far, he hears the familiar soft pattering of many paws on carpet as he walks, and he watches as Raisin and Bastard move ahead of him, looking back to check where he is every few steps. Chomps, on the other hand, has jumped up to the catwalk, where he now treads alongside Martin at an even height. However, Martin isn't expecting the cat to meow, the type of meow that means he very obviously wants something from him. Jon doesn't even shift in his arms at the noise.

"What?" he asks aloud as quietly as he can manage, stopping in his tracks to stare at him. His pause seems to give the cat all the time he needs before he's stepping off of the platform and right onto Jon's stomach. Martin is ready to try and get him off, or for Jon to immediately wake up at the new weight, but when the cat merely settles to lay across the length of the man's chest and stomach, he makes no indication that the pressure is uncomfortable or unwelcome. Martin stands there for a few more moments, adjusting himself to the added weight of both another human and a slightly larger than average cat in his arms, before he starts forward towards the bedroom once again, a small smile dancing on his lips.

He couldn't be more thankful for the life he has been given the opportunity to build.

  
  
  
  


Jon has never been particularly prone to nightmares. Usually he would just relive memories in his waking hours on bad days, and really it is a blessing.

Whenever he gets nightmares, though, it is never pretty.

He wakes up on this particular night to a firm hand gently but insistently shaking his shoulder. The moment his eyes snap open he is suddenly highly aware of what exactly he had been dreaming about, and even more aware of his aching chest and the lack of oxygen in his lungs. It is also painfully, terrifyingly dark.

" _Jon_ , it's okay, you're okay."

He tries to listen, he does, except any reassurances he tries to offer are drowned by the grip of fear and complete terror that tightens around his throat. Instead he takes in a heaving gasp and tries to weakly push himself into a sitting position. Before he can, familiar arms encircle his torso and pull him upright, tucking him against a warm chest while a hand rubs circles into his back soothingly. It helps somewhat, but he still feels like he's wearing concrete shoes, sinking away from the surface. Martin is talking to him, he's sure of it, except now he can't hear the words above his own rising heart rate.

He can't decide whether to keep his eyes open or to close them, the differences in darkness equaling out in their cons and pros. While keeping his eyes open shows him that he is with Martin and that he is on safe ground, the darkness is so eerily similar to that of the Other World. This darkness is real, and empty, _so very empty_ and _lifeless_.

But when he closes his eyes, he sees it all over again, the Gateway, the Entities themselves, and all that emptiness that had come after. The isolation, and the loss of touch with reality itself, far greater than what pieces he can remember from enduring The Unknowing. He can see it all in vivid detail and it only serves to increase the sense of dread that has him feeling as though the ground itself has dropped out from under him.

He's still lost in his indecisiveness, blinking hard before reopening his eyes in a panic every few seconds, before there is the feeling of something settling on his lap. His eyes next open to the most surprising sight of the silhouette of the ginger cat who stands with his two front paws on his thigh and stares straight back at him. His face is just a few inches from Jon's when he lets out an uncharacteristically quiet meow. It startles Jon enough that for a moment the memory flickers out of mind, and in that time the cat invites himself into his lap, head facing up at a ninety degree angle just to look him in the eyes. Raising a hand, he settles it in the animal's fur, blinking confusedly when he begins to purr.

"What the hell…?" he hears Martin whisper above him, and it's only then that Jon realises his breathing is still far from at a standard degree.

His hand fists gently in the cat's fur, and he presses his forehead into Martin as his chest rattles dangerously. “ _Fuck…_ "

"Hey, it's okay," Martin's embrace around him tightens. "You're okay, I'm with you."

Jon focuses on the combination of the sound of the other man's gentle words, made small and short to ensure he truly hears them, and the vibrations that now reverberate through his legs from the animal's deep, relaxing purr. After a few minutes, the darkness seems to edge into just that — the kind of darkness that comes with each passing day; the kind that acts as a promise for another day.

When his panic recedesto the point where it leaves just a pulsing headache in its wake, his throat finally feels less like there's a rope coiled around it quite so tightly. 

"Thanks," he says tiredly, unmoving against Martin, feeling each rhythmic rise and fall of the other man's chest. His hand moves to begin petting the cat again, and it's only now that he realises the other two have curled up around him as well. 

Martin hums, raising his own hand to run it through the hair at the nape of Jon's neck. He leans into the contact, the faint tickle of each hair moving lulling him into a sense of security. The exhaustion from a sudden awakening along with the energy exerted in a full blown panic attack is starting to once again weigh on him, but he doesn't want to chance the nightmares again if he can help it.

There seems to be passive understanding of this, as suddenly he's following Martin's leaning motion before there's a click and soft light instantaneously floods his vision. When they settle back into the pillows, leaned against the headboard, Jon keeps himself propped up against the man, who similarly keeps an arm draped around him almost protectively. The cats rearrange themselves as well, Bastard refusing to give up his space in Jon's lap and thus resigning himself to being laid upon by Raisin. Chomps, meanwhile, uses the smaller cat as a pillow as he lays spread entirely out across the both of them, purring away in apparent bliss. It stays like this for quite some time, when finally Martin uses his free hand to push some hair out of Jon's face. When his fingers brush against his skin, he finds himself melting further into the other's warmth.

"Do you want to talk about it?" 

Jon blows sharply through his nose. "That's probably a discussion I should be saving for a therapist." 

Martin runs a hand down his arm until he reaches Jon's fingers, where he then interlocks them. "We should probably get one of those." There's a hint of amusement to the words, but they come across rather serious for the most part.

Jon hums, too tired to think of a proper response. After a long moment passes, he returns to the matter at hand. "Later."

This seems to satisfy the man, who lifts his chin and plants a tender, lasting kiss on his forehead. "That's alright, my love." The endearment kicks up a bout of warmth into his chest, gentle where panic had once been. "I can read something aloud if that might help distract you?"

He doesn't even have to think about the request, already nodding by the time he's finishing the sentence. With that, Martin leans over to grab the book he's in the middle of reading — a Terry Pratchett novel, Jon recalls — his eyes slipping closed just as the man's gentle voice begins to read aloud from the book he holds with both hands now, one arm still wrapped around him.

He's already asleep by the start of the second chapter, and he awakes first the next morning still held securely in Martin's loving arms.

  
  
  
  


The two of them have fallen into a habit of buying extra cat items from the store that they don't need and donating them to the same shelter they had originally adopted from. They collect over the course of a month each time they need to head out for groceries, sometimes grabbing an extra bag of cat food or a toy, or even just a towel on the shelf. Occasionally they will also buy supplies and necessities for the other animals awaiting new homes, dog toys and food most often than others. Their bias, predictably, does lean towards the cats more than any other group.

Because of this, there is always a pile of supplies in a large plastic tub whenever it's time for their monthly drop-off. Usually they would do it together, except Jon is stuck in the house with a minor case of the flu, but has managed to convince Martin to leave his side for more than two whole minutes and do it anyway. It hadn't worked until he had thrown in how _"the cats would be so disappointed, Martin, you can't let them down without good reason"_. Martin had wanted to argue that Jon was plenty good reason to delay it, but he is nothing if not weak, and the knowledge that the other man would let him know if he needs anything is enough to get himself and the tub in the car to make his way over anyway.

The pair have become recognised as something of a hidden wonder by the staff of the shelter, knowing the both of them by name and even asking for updates on their own trio of felines from time to time despite the fact Bastard is not an adopted animal. Due to this, they often get brought around the building to see all the animals, which can be both a blessing and a curse when trying to hold some self control from impulse adopting every animal he sees. 

Today is no different, as a familiar face — Fay, the woman who had originally led them to find Mr. Chomps and, inadvertently, Raisin Bran the first time around — escorts him to the cat kennels to give some of them their new towels and bedding. It goes smoothly, Martin picking up the loose cats and giving them attention as Fay removes the old and replaces some of it with the new. They're nearly done and are just about to put in the last of it when Martin feels something catch on his sleeve. When he looks over, he's met with the sight of a clawed paw extending from a kennel door, hooked through his sweater and an inquisitive, excited cat staring back. It's not an underestimation to say he almost melts to the floor.

"Well, I see you've met Cal." Fay comes over and begins trying to unhook the claws from his clothes. "She was seized a few weeks ago after a series of mistreatment allegations. Right bundle of energy she is. We're pretty certain she has some Bengal in her, but even the owners said they weren't sure."

Looking closer, it's clear that the cat is slightly thinner than average for an animal of her size, but he can imagine it must have been much worse if her health has developed this far after weeks of proper care. Despite this, however, she appears to be perfectly happy, and is merely trying to latch back onto him the moment Fay has worked her claw from the cotton. 

"Cal? Short for Callie, I presume."

"Short for Calamity, actually."

Martin has to check the woman's face to make sure she isn't joking. His face must portray just how curious he is when he finds nothing but seriousness on her face, because an amused smile breaks across her face within an instant. 

"The first time we brought her in for a veterinary check, she managed to wriggle out of the technician's arms and started springboarding around the room. It only took us a minute to catch her — with a net, mind you — but she had absolutely wrecked the place. There was nothing on the shelves and she had even somehow managed to knock the weight scale off the counter. If there were scratchmarks on the ceiling it would not have surprised me in the slightest." 

Once again turning his attention to the cat in question, now that he's looking for it, he can absolutely see the wild amounts of energy in her eyes. When he reaches a hand out to her kennel door where she reaches through and hooks a paw onto it, claws extended, she lets out what could only be a pleading meow. 

In reality, there was very little chance of him holding out, so when he walks back into the house and Jon sees the cardboard carrier he has at his side, he really does not look all that surprised.

Voice ever so slightly strained and nasally, he lifts his head fully from his book. "Martin."

"Just wait, hold on—" Martin sets the carrier down and begins to unhook the covers.

" _Martin_."

"Look!" He reaches in and gets a hold on the cat who looks exactly one second away from leaping into the open room. Martin then stands back up straight, the animal held above him. "Her name is Cal," he says when Jon remains stubbornly silent, and he gives a wide smile. "It's short for Calamity."

The stare this gets him is nothing short of withering.

  
  
  
  


Martin had decided to try and work himself back into some of his old hobbies. He has slowly begun trying to make a return into poetry, although the endeavour is proving to be one filled with many hurdles. While the pieces themselves feel stilted — and he's sure he can work this out given the time to rekindle the skill — the problem he faces is moreso due to a mental block.

Poetry is meant to be emotional, full of personal interpretation and perspective that is twisted in such a way as to write it as though it is a landscape and you are its painter. To capture the emotion you must muddy the waters with your brush and mix colours to make something so entirely new you can barely identify its origins. It is tragedy, and it is catharsis, and impulsion, and passion; it is all that which makes you human.

But Martin? Well, he would sooner die than wish to wave upon the ghosts of his experiences for the time being.

So this he is not yet strong enough to face. However, he once was also a fairly avid knitter, and this task quickly proves much easier to work with.

He decides that a simple project will help get him back into the skill, and settles for making a scarf from a comfortable black wool he picks up one day while in town. Where he had been expecting fumbling upon beginning, though, he finds that his fingers easily move through the paces with the needles, working from muscle memory until he's already finished his first few rows. Despite the length of time, and much to his own surprise, he doesn't drop a stitch, and instead moves with general consistency, though sometimes he worries whether the wool is too slack or too taut beneath his fingertips. 

Martin works in total silence, far too focused on the task at hand to care much of it, and thus notices the faint but familiar pattering of pawed feet on soft carpet that reaches his ears. He doesn't look up, instead serving to trust his hands to work efficiently as he instead mounts his focus on his peripheral vision, where he can see an orange shape peer around the edge of the couch. He flicks his eyes over briefly to see that Bastard has made an appearance, and has his eyes firmly set on the ball of wool he's using that has fallen to the floor at his feet. With each stitch, the ball moves as the amount of wool lessens, rolling over itself in a way that must appear especially appealing to the feline. Martin decides he would rather watch how this plays out, and merely continues in his work as the cat seems more and more intrigued in the moving object. 

It's after some moments of stillness that he watches as yet another shape appears from the hallway, and when he glances up, it's to see the way Calamity's eyes fall on the ball of wool and instantly dilate, predatory. He withholds his amusement as he's now highly aware of the fact that he has two animals as an audience, and decides to spur on the inevitable. 

Slowly shifting his foot across the carpet until his toe is against the wool, he waits for a few seconds, surveying the crouched positions of the two animals, before kicking the ball across the floor and allowing the thread to unravel. 

It never stood a chance.

The moment it starts rolling, the two cats spring up and pounce for it. Cal reaches it first, throwing herself onto the ball and immediately digging her claws into the harmless material. Bastard joins her swiftly, and is next to get hold of it the moment Calamity's excited movements knock it away from her reach. Martin puts down the needles and holds the thread on his end, making sure the cats can have their fun without pulling the stitches off the needle.

"You know, we have cat toys for this." Jon has appeared from the hallway as well, Raisin Bran at his feet and is watching the mad dash after the yarn that has begun on their living room floor. His amused expression doesn't falter, and he watches with no small amount of joy when Sin joins the chase. Chomps remains entirely unaware of what is unfolding, napping by the window in the last of the sun's rays for the evening.

Martin merely hums in response, staring at the madness that is three cats all chasing one object. The only sound between them is the scampering of clawed feet catching and tearing on the carpet as the felines move from spot to spot. 

Martin has to wonder how they came from fighting horrifying creatures straight from the darkest recesses of fear to getting to watch three cats all dart for the chance to catch a ball of wool. Not to say that he particularly minds the change — it's one he would welcome with open arms time and time again. 

Jon silently steps around the battlefield and sits himself down beside Martin. Instantly he finds himself leaning into the smaller man, and he closes his eyes when he feels one arm wrap around his shoulders as another reaches up and runs a hand through his hair. The contact practically has him melting into the cushions, and Jon's huffed laughter is proof enough that it shows. 

"How are you feeling?" the other man asks, and Martin's reply comes in the form of leaning down and burying his face in his neck with a sigh. He presses a small kiss there before settling fully into the position. Jon seems more than willing to support his weight, and hold him close. He feels it when he presses his own lips into Martin's hair. "Was that a _good_ sigh or a _bad_ sigh?" 

"Good," he answers. "Very good."

Because things have been… better, than they were. Not everything is one hundred percent, and he's not sure if it ever will be, but it's the best that he's felt in a long time. He can't remember when he had last felt quite so whole, so absolutely bursting with love and family and the feeling of _home_ . He feels as though he's just returned to a place familiar after so long lost and trudging knee-high mud through the woods. His heart feels fit to bursting with sweet and joyous love and music. The songbirds in his chest beat their wings in harmony, singing warm ballads of promise and hope and _future_. It is all Martin can do to withhold from letting them loose and watching them spread their colour and song to every shadowed corner, narrow passage, and clouded sky within the country. 

Instead, he channels the feeling — belonging — into moving himself into a position where he can better plant a kiss on Jon’s cheek. The action in no way could express just how much adoration he holds for the man, and thus he goes even further to begin peppering his love across all the exposed skin he can reach. Jon chuckles at all the contact, trying to shove him away from kissing his nose by pushing his hand into his face. Martin merely retaliates by grabbing his wrist and planting one on the back of his hand instead, and when he lifts his head, a hand gently lifts his chin to receive a kiss in kind. He smiles into it and he feels Jon do the same as the flutter in his chest grows tenfold. When they part, they rest their foreheads against one another, eyes closed, and their noses brushing as they soak up the feeling of each other. 

“I love you,” Jon whispers, quiet and so very affectionate that Martin is almost overcome with a wave of all encompassing emotion so strong he’s sure he could be swept away if he gave himself to it. “I could never hope to say that enough, even if I were to say it for the rest of time.” 

Martin smiles, opening his eyes once again as he moves away only to then place a long, loving kiss right between his eyebrows before settling his head on top of Jon’s. 

“Don’t worry,” he replies, bringing a hand up to the back of the man’s head and slowly threading his fingers through his hair. “We’ll be able to say it enough between the two of us.”

Eventually the two come to lay on the couch, just barely keeping each other from falling off the edge and tumbling onto the floor. The furniture is most definitely not constructed to support two grown men glued at the chest, but somehow they have always made it work anyway. It’s as he rests his cheek on Jon’s chest, his deep, exhaustion-laden breaths tussling his hair with each exhale, he realises that for the first time in months — _years_ — his mind is quiet. 

Not a single thought of the past nor even of the future is present to fuel the unceasing nervousness that usually sits as a constant in the back of his mind. All he knows in this moment is that Jon is beside him, there’s at least one cat curled between their legs, and the rest are spread somewhere throughout the rest of the home, having grown bored of the ball of wool that now remains unraveled in the centre of the floor. Above all else, they are _safe_ , and there is nothing that could change it now. There is no eye floating above them in the sky, unceasingly watching their each and every move and leaving them anxious about little things like where they set their foot in fear of stepping on a landmine. Jon is no longer plagued by all the knowledge he had dreaded taking upon himself, and Martin doesn’t have to worry about disappearing and leaving all those he loves behind. Their friends, he knows, are safe in their own homes, going about their evenings as per usual, laughing and talking amongst themselves, now only left to worry about the mundane. 

A smile creeps onto his face unbidden, and he buries it in Jon’s shirt with no amount of subtlety. The man does not ask, however, and merely raises the arm that doesn’t support Martin’s back to brush his hair away from his forehead, doing nothing to tame the unruliness of it. 

_I’m happy,_ he does not need to say as he drifts off, Jon’s every action making his understanding entirely known. _Finally, we can be happy._ Together _._

When Martin awakes the next morning to the sight of the soft golden glow of a new day streaming in through the kitchen window, perfectly illuminating Jon’s smiling, resting face, he feels with all his heart that perhaps he might just deserve this new life afterall.

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly some of this may have been really out of character, but I'm chalking it up to having been because they literally survived the apocalypse together and now are making up for all that time they spent in uncertainty. Also I just yearn thank you @ Jonny for feeding the gays,,,, legend. Also I may or may not make small additional one-shots based in this same ending depending on if I have the juice for it after writing this beast. Shrug, we'll see
> 
> Quick shoutout to everyone in the closed TMA server who let me shout and send out of context snippets over the last two months it took me to finally finish this. They're the real heroes here 
> 
> I'm on Tumblr as [chiwithekiwi](https://chiwithekiwi.tumblr.com/)! Feel free to come chat with me, even if I rarely make original posts sjfnsjkfns


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